The Whore in the Background
Christine Capra
91

i only miss him because men wanted him/

i ripped him up/ i tore him to pieces like a manuscript/ i let him go into the wind/ the me that men paid money for/ the me who could pretend that you as the trick was someone i wanted/ someone i could touch/ all my secrets poured into a grave/ threadbare before the whoring, the money was a tower of strength/ my kingdom for a horse/ i miss him from time to time, that version of myself, because he could seduce both the princes and the castle/ and what confused me then (i pretended it didn’t) were all the family men, all the married tricks with children/ you have no idea how many of them took me home to fuck me in their absent son’s bed/ i never knew where the sons were, i never asked/ i never had a room like that/ i’m just looking around as this daddy is inside of me, staring at the room, the trophies on the desk/ the basketball, the boy clothes on the floor/ the posters of farrah fawcett on the wall, the baseball bats in corners, the sneakers, and the soldiers no one has played with for a very long time/ daddy’s fucking me and i’m thinking perhaps i could move in, perhaps be a part of this, if only he would love me, really love me, and i would wax his car, and mow his lawn/ none of these were men who abused their sons/ just by proxy and farrah on the wall/ they would return me to the street, and that ride back to those darker corners was always made in the kind of silence i could rip up, too/ and let it go like a flock of birds escapes/

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